Peter nodded. “Maybe.” They began walking toward the glassed-in entrance to the Mirror Image offices. Sarkar pressed his thumb against the FILE scanner. “There’s proof, apparently, that my father-in-law’s medical records were examined, using an account that belonged to a man I knew at university.”

“Oh.” They were heading down a long corridor. “Still, you would need his password and such.”

“At U of T, they assign account names by adding your first initial to your last name. And for passwords, the default on the first day of classes is always your own last name spelled backward. They tell you to change it, but there’s always some idiot who never does. If a simulation of me was looking for a way into the medical database, it might have tried names at random of med students I’d known back then and seen if any of them still used their old account names and passwords.”

They’d come to Sarkar’s computer lab. He touched his thumb against another FILE scanner. Bolts popped aside and the heavy door slid noisily open. “So now we must turn off the sims,” said Sarkar.

Peter frowned.

“What’s wrong?” said Sarkar.

“I — guess I’m just a bit reluctant to do that,” Peter said. “First, of course, likely only one sim is guilty; the others don’t have to suffer.”

“We don’t have time to play detective. We have to stop this before the guilty sim kills again.”

“But will he kill again? I know why Hans was murdered, and, although I wouldn’t have done the same thing, I can’t honestly say I’m sorry he’s dead. And I even understand why my father-in-law was killed. But there’s no one else I want to see dead. Oh, there are others who have wronged me or ripped me off or made parts of my life miserable, but I honestly don’t wish that any of them were dead.”

Sarkar pantomimed slapping Peter’s face. “Wake up, Peter. It’d be criminal not to shut them off.”

Peter nodded slowly. “You’re right, of course. It’s time to pull the plug.”

CHAPTER 37

Sarkar cracked his knuckles nervously, shifted his barstool in front of the master computer console, and spoke into the microphone: “Login.”

“Login name?” asked the computer.

“Sarkar.”

“Hello, Sarkar. Command?”

“Multiple delete, no prompts: all files in subdirectories Control, Spirit, and Ambrotos.”

“Confirm delete?”

“Yes.”

“Delete failure. Files are read-only.”

Sarkar nodded. “Attributes, all files and subdirectories specified previously, read-only off.”

“Attributes are password locked.”

“Password: Abu Yusuf.”

“Incorrect password.”

Sarkar turned to Peter. “That’s the only password I use these days.”

Peter shrugged. “Try again.”

“Password: Abu Yusuf.” He spelled it.

“Incorrect password.”

“Who locked the files?” asked Sarkar.

“Hobson, Peter G.,” replied the computer.

Peter’s heart began to pound. “Oh, shit.”

“Display user log, Hobson, Peter G.,” said Sarkar.

A list of dates and times appeared on the screen. Sarkar slapped his hand against the tabletop. “See that? Node nine-nine-nine? Diagnostic mode. Your account was used, but accessed internally — from inside the system.”

“Damn!” Peter leaned into the mike. “Login.”

“Login name?” said the computer.

“Fobson.”

“Hello, Peter. Should I terminate your other session?”

“What other session?”

“You are logged on here at node oh-oh-one and also at node nine-nine-nine.”

Sarkar leaned forward. “Yes,” said Peter. “Absolutely. Terminate session at node nine-nine-nine.”

“Logoff failure.”

“Damn,” said Peter. He turned to Sarkar. “Can that other session override this one?”

“No. The most-recent login takes precedence.”

“Okay,” said Peter, rubbing his hands together. “Reference directories and files previously specified by Sarkar. Unlock attributes.”

“Password?”

“Password: Mugato.”

“Incorrect password.”

“Password: Sybok.”

“Incorrect password.”

“Dammit,” said Peter. He looked to Sarkar. “Those are the only two passwords I ever use.”

Sarkar exhaled noisily. “They’re not going to let us erase them.”

“Can we take this system offline?”

Sarkar nodded and spoke into the microphone. “Initiate shutdown.”

“Jobs are currently running. Confirm command?”

“Yes. Initiate shutdown.”

“Password?”

“Password: Abu—”

The red light on the microphone winked off. Sarkar slammed his palm against the console again. “They’ve shut off voice input.”

“Christ,” said Peter.

“This is silly,” said Sarkar, angrily. “We can still pull the physical plug.” He reached for the phone, dialed a three-digit extension.

“Maintenance,” said a woman’s voice on the other end of the line.

“Hello,” said Sarkar. “I know it is late, but this is Dr. Muhammed speaking. We are, ah, having a little difficulty up here. I need you to cut all power to our computing facility.”

“Cut it, sir?”

“That’s correct.”

“Okay,” she said. “It’ll take a few minutes. You’re aware, though, that your data-processing department is on a UPS — you know, an uninterruptible power supply. It’ll run on batteries for a while.”

“How long?”

“If everything’s turned on, only six or seven minutes — just enough to weather any short blackout.”

“Can you disconnect the UPS?”

“Sure, if you like. It’ll have to be physically unplugged; I can’t turn it off from down here. I’m the only one on duty right now. Can I get someone to do it for you tomorrow?”

“This is an emergency,” said Sarkar. “Can you come up and show us how to do it? I’ve someone here with me if it’s warm bodies you need.”

“Okay. You want me to cut the mains before I come up?”

“No — we’ll cut them after the UPS is disconnected.” He covered the mouthpiece and spoke to Peter. “That means everything will go off at once, without giving the sims any warning.”

Peter nodded.

“Whatever you say, sir,” said the maintenance person. “Give me a few minutes, then I’ll be up.” Sarkar put down the phone.

“What will you do once the power is off?” asked Peter.

Sarkar was already on the floor, trying to remove an access panel from underneath the computer console. “Take out the optical drives and hook them up to a test bench. I can zap data on a bit-by-bit basis, if need be, using a Norton laser, so—”

The phone rang.

“Can you get that?” Sarkar said, struggling with a stubborn wing nut.

The videophone’s screen displayed a notice that the incoming call was audio-only. Peter picked up the handset. “Hello?”

There was staticky silence for about two seconds, then an obviously synthesized voice came on. “Hello,” it said.

Peter felt himself flush with anger. He hated computerized telephone solicitations. He was in the process of slamming down the receiver when he heard the next word, “Pe-ter.”

In the split second before the handset hit the cradle, he realized that even if the soliciting computer was working from an online phone directory, there’s no way a stranger would expect to find him at this number. He stopped short and pulled the receiver back to his face.

“Who is this?” he said. He glanced down at the lights on the phone deskset. This wasn’t a call being transferred internally; it was coming over an outside line.

“It’s,” said the voice, dull and mechanical, “you.”

Peter held the handset in front of his face, looking at it as if it were a serpent.

More words came from the earpiece, each one separated from the next by a small, static-filled space.

“Surely you didn’t expect us to stay cooped up on that small workstation?”

The maintenance person arrived a few minutes later, carrying a toolbox. Sarkar looked up at her, turmoil plain, at least to Peter’s eyes, on Sarkar’s face.